


eyes on you (only you)

by corazondemielle



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Bang Chan is Whipped, Dancer Lee Minho | Lee Know, Drabble, Emperor Bang Chan, Modern Royalty, Prince Lee Felix, Prince Yang Jeongin, Yearning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:34:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29634711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corazondemielle/pseuds/corazondemielle
Summary: The air feels charged when he locks eyes with Minho, whose chest rises and falls with exhaustion, but he offers a toothy smile all the same as he looks at Chan.And Chan looks at him. Only at him.Or, it's Chan's first Spring Show as the Emperor of his land, yet, all he can think about is the wonder that is Lee Minho.
Relationships: Bang Chan/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Comments: 4
Kudos: 58





	eyes on you (only you)

**Author's Note:**

> debated on posting this for a long time because it was part of a much longer fic that sits unedited in my drafts, but I figured I might. I hope you enjoy.
> 
> twt @corazondemielle  
> cc curiouscat.me/corazondemielle

A piano melody makes its way to Chan’s ears, dragged out by dancers who fill the stage with heavy movements and it’s almost instinctual, the way his eyes desperately scan the troupe for a hint of ginger. Felix leans into his space slowly and Chan can almost feel the smirk creeping up on the younger’s face, despite having his eyes glued on the stage.

“Looking for something, Your Majesty?” Felix says with mockery as the song starts increasing in intensity. 

Chan shoots him a glare that holds no heat and he fights so the corners of his mouth won’t quirk into a smile. “Very funny, Felix.” He murmurs as he looks back to the scenario just in time to see a girl in a flowy dress be lifted in what feels like slow-motion.

“He won’t be dancing to this song, I think,” Jeongin smoothly interrupts their soon-to-become bickering, his eyes on the golden colored pamphlet that serves as a program of the show, the one that welcomes the coming of spring to the empire.

Chan’s shoulders visibly relax at that line and his grip on the velvety chair of the Royal Booth disappears just as quick. He spares a glance at Felix, who has a mocking smile on his face, and then one at Jeongin, the air of disinterest around him not evident to unknowing eyes. It’s only the three of them in the theater booth, but that’s only a semblance of privacy as Chan knows of all of the guards stationed outside, of the servants who await for orders, of the power-hungry nobles who eye them from time to time from their booths and their people who are in the seats of the theater enjoying the show. 

The feeling dizzies him a little, even though it’s not a recent realization; Chan wipes his palms on his pants and wills down his heart that beats erratically. It’s a bit hard, as he has always been aware of the weight his actions hold, when all the eyes in this land are on them, expecting something from them. 

So yes, he must accept it’s difficult and futile, to imagine a universe where he is not a royal, the Emperor at that, so for a minute, Chan allows himself to bask in the fake privacy, the promise of a mundane memory that he will maybe treasure forever, as his siblings tease him while they watch the spring show for the umpteenth time and he longs for the moment the love of his life appears on the stage to wow their people with his talent.

It's Jeongin who snaps him out of his daydream this time when he goes, 

“Oh, I was wrong? Hyung, he must be closing this performance.”

And that alone makes Chan tense again, his eyes combing through the quick wave of movements as the dancers twirl to the apparent neverending crescendo of the song.

He hears his brothers laugh at him again, but they sound far, far away, because when the orchestra halts, Chan finally sees _him._

Dressed like he is being hugged by the sea, Lee Minho opens his eyes on stage as if he has just been born, a gaze full of love that Chan swears lingers on him for a single beat before something possesses this lethal man and suddenly he is moving like water at the sea when the tide is high, his figures powerful and calculated, yet handed to their eyes like dancing the way he does is easy. 

Chan knows it isn’t.

And yet, there he is, embodying the ocean, like he was born from it the same way Venus was born from seafoam and Chan has to hold his breath or else this illusion will disappear.

Chan cannot look away and he wishes he could admire the performance as a whole but his eyes are glued to Minho whose everything is sharp, like glass even. Min whose laugh rises like the foam at the beach where they first kissed; Min who never settles for less than what he deserves and fights for the things he wants; Min who works hard and pushes Chan to work hard as well; Min who looks at him the same way the rest of The Empire does, but whose soft brown eyes also demand to Chan, _look at me, keep your eyes on me and only on me_.

And so Chan does, always has; first with shyness, when they were kids, too young to even think of the future; then for a while he observed him with admiration that slowly chased its peak and turned into endearment now. Minho could have lived a quiet and comfortable life as the successor of a count house. He could have settled quietly but instead he left the title to his sister and worked his ranks up until he was the best dancer of the royal ballet, the best dancer in their whole land and he didn’t stop until he became the director too. 

They are older now, and have responsibilities none of them can ignore, shouldn't ignore, but Lee Minho is in his mind regardless of the time or the place.

Chan is so lost in the thoughts of Minho, that he soon loses sight of the ginger, and he counts, _one, two, three_ , until he hits seven and then Minho is flying through the air, and Chan can’t do anything but stare. stars in his eyes. 

Minho cuts through the stage like a blade and he lands in front of the rest of the dancers, all lights blue, red, yellow reflecting on him. The music is slowly fading into the chill of the night and the crowd roars and it feels like Chan is breathing once again.

This is the man he loves. Seeing him dance is enthralling, mesmerizing even. 

And god, Chan wishes he never had to look away.

But just like that, the music ends. Chan composes himself and claps eagerly, because he is the Emperor now, he will clap proudly for the dancers who are the joy of the empire. 

“Our Channie is in love.” Felix teases in a silly voice but he looks as stunned as Chan feels. 

“I am,” is all Chan can say before the troupe of dancers smiles and bows to the crowd, and then look at the Royal booth and bow once again, all full of poise and grace. 

The air feels charged when he locks eyes with Minho, whose chest rises and falls with exhaustion, but he offers a toothy smile all the same as he looks at Chan. 

And Chan looks at him. Only at him.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on:  
> twt @corazondemielle  
> cc curiouscat.me/corazondemielle


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